


Broken Glass

by Duck_Life



Category: Shatterstar (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Homophobic Language, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Break Up, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Julio comes back to his apartment to find Shatterstar, bloody from a bar fight.





	Broken Glass

As soon as Julio steps into the loft above The Shakedown, he can tell something’s wrong. For one thing, his bedroom door is shut when he definitely left it open. And the roll of paper towels that usually sits on the counter is lying on the floor, unfurled like a scroll.

“ _ Oye _ , I got nothing for you to steal,” he calls out, walking inside gingerly, eyes wide and on the alert. “TV doesn't even work. Be better off running off with the liquor downstairs.”

He's hoping it's just a burglar, because the alternatives — Reavers, Purifiers, Friends of Humanity, robots, aliens— are all too much for him to handle, especially after a long night.

And it has been a long night. It's been a lot of them, for a long while. 

“You broke into the wrong apartment,” he announces, priming a vibe-quake in his right hand. With his left, he reaches out to open his bedroom door and face whatever’s coming to him. “I swear to God, I'll shake you up like an goddamn Etch-a-Sketch so…” His words die in his throat. Inside his bedroom, a familiar figure sits perched at the edge of his bed, blood trickling from his forehead. 

“Good evening,” Shatterstar says, like Julio’s life is some big colossal joke. 

“Jesus Christ, ‘Star,” Julio sighs, letting the vibrations in his hand fade out, lowering his arm. “Don't take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you doing here?”

He doesn't move to sit beside Shatterstar on the bed, doesn't surge forward to look at the injury on his head. A few months ago, he would have. But Shatterstar is an adult, and he can take care of himself. He doesn't need Julio chasing after him, doting on him. 

“Got hurt,” Shatterstar says, gesturing up to his head. His voice is rough. “Your home… closer than my home.” He screws up his face when he says that, like the concept of the two of them having two different homes is strange and confusing. 

“Jesus Christ,” Julio says again, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “Just… just… you're bleedin’ all over the bed,” he says, trying to make it sound pissed off but just coming out concerned. “Go sit in the bathroom.”

‘Star gets up and does as he says, sitting on the edge of Julio’s bathtub. Julio follows him in, grabbing the first aid kit out from under the sink and sitting on the toilet seat lid, his knees bumping against ‘Star’s. “You know,” he sighs, undoing the Velcro on the kit, the distinct sound echoing in his bathroom, “I haven't had to use this damn thing since I moved out.”

“I am sorry,” ‘Star says, staring down at the tile flooring. 

“Well… don't apologize for being hurt,” Julio says, quieter. He takes Shatterstar’s chin in his hand and turns his head, getting a better look at the wound in the light. Scratches trace from one temple down toward his ear, with dark blood clotting up by his hairline. On closer inspection, Julio can see why Shatterstar couldn't just rely on his healing factor to take care of this injury— there’s glass in it. “I'm going to pull out all these pieces,” he says softly, remembering that Shatterstar likes to know what's going on before you touch him, remembering that he should have warned him a second ago before grabbing his chin. Remembering that he's not supposed to care about any of this shit anymore. 

Julio pulls the tweezers out of the first aid kit, willing his hands not to shake. He’s gotten much better control of his powers since he was a kid, but in times of great stress or emotion— like, say, his ex-boyfriend showing up in his apartment covered in blood— sometimes his powers don’t quite cooperate. 

When he pulls out the first piece of broken glass, Shatterstar doesn’t even flinch. Julio grabs a square of toilet paper and sets it on the bathroom counter, sets the shard of glass on top. It’s brown, amber in the light. “You gonna tell me what happened?” Julio says, still speaking softly. He’s used to patching up Shatterstar after fights, used to wrapping and taping and splinting his injuries until his healing factor can take over. He’s  _ too _ used to it, and sometimes he wonders what it would have been like to love someone who wasn’t constantly throwing himself into every fight in a one-mile radius. 

“Uhm,” Shatterstar says, staring down at his knuckles. Julio puts the second piece of glass on the counter beside the first. This one’s still got the corner of the beer label stuck to it. “Mandroids.”

Julio stares at him. “ _ Mandroids _ smashed a beer bottle into the side of your head?”

Shatterstar nods stiffly. “Yes.” 

“Right,” Julio says, not buying it. “Shatterstar… can you just tell me the truth? Please?” He does not say,  _ You owe me that much _ , but he hopes it’s implied. 

Shatterstar sighs, looking back down at his hands. Julio removes more pieces of glass from the side of his head, wincing in sympathy at the sticky, tacky blood matting his hair down. “I was in a bar,” he says. “Got into a fight with some men. I did not kill them,” he says quickly, because it’s important. “We fought. Their injuries are worse than mine.”

“Of course they are,” Julio says, trying to focus on the tweezers and the glass and not think about Shatterstar getting into reckless bar fights. “Please tell me you didn’t throw the first punch.”

“Okay. I didn’t throw the first punch.” 

Julio sags, annoyed, but also trying not to laugh. That’s a constant state of life with ‘Star— hovering between irritation and amusement. Irritation wins out this time, though, and he reminds himself that there is no “life with ‘Star” anymore. There is ‘Star, and there is him. Separate entities. Alone. 

“ _ Shatterstar _ .”

“You told me to tell you that,” Shatterstar whines.

“So you  _ did _ throw the first punch.”

“Obviously.”

“For God’s sake, ‘Star, why?” Julio asks, pausing in his diligent work with the tweezers to stare at his ex-boyfriend. “What’d they do, make a rude comment about your star mark?”

“No,” Shatterstar says, lips twisting into a scowl. “One of the other men, he… he called me an obscene name.” He says this in a stage whisper, like he’s afraid someone might be listening from the other room. Or, more accurately, like he’s embarrassed.

“An ‘obscene’ name,” Julio repeats. “Jeez, ‘Star, what did he call you?” But Shatterstar shakes his head, mouth pressed into a hard line. “Aw, c’mon. Can you at least give me a letter?”

Shatterstar hesitates and then finally says, “C.”

“C,” Julio says. “He called you a cunt?” ‘Star shakes his head. “What, uh,  _ cabrón _ ?” Again, no. Julio thinks. “Oh! I know! Did he call you—”

“Okay, okay, stop guessing!” Shatterstar says, looking even more annoyed now. “He…” He looks left and right, again like someone might be listening. Julio reminds himself that this apartment is unfamiliar to ‘Star, and he’s always been weird about new places. A few months ago— feels like a lifetime ago— he watched Shatterstar painstakingly examine every nook and cranny of his newly purchased apartment building for bugs or hidden cameras. Satisfied that he can speak freely, Shatterstar nevertheless leans closer to Julio. “He called me a cocksucker.” 

_ Oh _ . “Fuck,” Julio sighs, leaning back with his hands on his knees. “That’s… Jesus. I’m sorry, ‘Star.” He wants to say that ‘Star still should’ve held back, should’ve brushed it off and just walked away, but he knows what  _ he _ would’ve done when he was younger. Hell, he’d probably do the same thing now. “Listen, you—”

But Shatterstar isn’t finished. “Called me a cocksucker,” he continues. “Said… said he wished they found a cure for queers the way they found a cure for mutants.” Sometimes when Shatterstar is quoting someone else, he slips into an uncanny impression of their cadence and tone. He’s doing that now, talking like a stranger, and it sets Julio’s teeth on edge. His eyes are glassy, gauzy, as he speaks. “‘Could take care of it myself. Burn down that queer club around the block, including its faggot, mutie-scum owner.’”

Julio’s hands are clenched into fists, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until the pieces of glass on the bathroom counter start rattling. The stranger meant The Shakedown. The stranger meant  _ him _ . “That’s… that’s…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Chopping it all off was an impulse decision, and some days he regrets it. Not as much as he regrets other things. “I understand… that that’s upsetting, ‘Star, really. But you still shouldn’t be getting into fights with—”

“Are you joking?” Shatterstar demands, losing his composure. “He threatened you.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugs. “I’m a mutant. I’m gay. I’m used to it.” While Shatterstar fumes, he leans forward and plucks another piece of glass from his skin. “Doesn’t mean you need to be punching every asshole who calls me a bad name.”

“I was  _ protecting _ you.”

“I wasn’t even there!” Julio snaps. “Jesus Christ, ‘Star, you can’t  _ do _ shit like this,” he says, furious and sad and scared, remembering the way Shatterstar throws himself into fights without caring about whether he can win. “It’s not your business what some guy says about me in some bar, okay? I’m not your responsibility.”

“And I am not yours,” Shatterstar says back, the words biting and harsh. “Yet here you are, plucking glass shards from my skin.”

Julio glowers. “I’m gonna finish this,” he says after a moment, “and then you need to leave.”

“ _ Fekt _ ,” ‘Star grumbles. “Why are you so angry with  _ me _ ? I was defending you, defending your club.”

“And that’s, what, your noble excuse?” Julio asks, tweezers in his hand, trying to get back into the swing of this. The wound is beginning to scab over, but there are still broken bottle pieces embedded near Shatterstar’s hairline. “I  _ know _ you. If he hadn’t said something about me, you would’ve tried to provoke him, or somebody else in that bar. When you go looking for a fight, you find one every time. Do you even remember how many bars in New York City you’ve been banned from?”

“Six,” Shatterstar retorts. 

“ _ Dios _ ,” Julio sighs. He puts a hand on the back of Shatterstar’s head and tips him forward a little, getting a better angle so he can remove the last few pieces of broken glass. “I’m serious. You can’t be doing shit like this. You’ve got your tenants to think about now.”

“Yes,” Shatterstar agrees slowly. “And you have your patrons. We are the same.” 

Maybe they are. Maybe that’s the problem. “‘Star—”

“Why did you leave me?”

He sounds so plaintive, so sad, sounds like he did when they were younger and Shatterstar was trying to understand things like how payphones worked, what caterpillars were, where food went when it dropped into the garbage disposal. 

Julio wipes at his eyes, annoyed but not surprised to find tears there. “It’s… I just couldn’t…” he sighs, feeling his heart rate ramp up as he tries to figure out the best way to explain it. “I watched you. I watched you lock your swords up in a box, and I watched you change the way you were. Not going on missions, not fighting. ‘Star, you  _ looked _ the way I  _ felt _ when I lost my powers.” Shatterstar watches him, not correcting him, not contradicting him. “I couldn’t watch you go through that. I  _ know _ you. You need conflict and I… I can’t be coming home every night and finding you covered in  _ blood _ after whatever fight you got into this time, alright? I can’t…” His hands are shaking, hard, and he doesn’t even notice until Shatterstar grabs them to steady them. 

Images pass before him like flashbulbs— ‘Star holding his hands like this during panic attacks or after nightmares, ‘Star balling up on the couch and tilting into him, ‘Star’s hands in his hair, ‘Star kissing his neck and behind his ear, ‘Star, ‘Star, ‘Star. 

And then Shatterstar tugs him forward by his hands and their lips meet. ‘Star kisses him with fervor, and Julio responds, his tongue dipping into Shatterstar’s mouth and his teeth nipping at Shatterstar’s bottom lip. He doesn’t want this to stop. He doesn’t want this to end. 

He pushes Shatterstar away. 

“We… we can’t,” he sighs, trying to avoid Shatterstar’s eyes.

‘Star sounds annoyed. “Why not?” he says, hands moving toward Julio’s hands. Julio jerks away, and Shatterstar looks like he’s been slapped. “I don’t understand.  _ I don’t understand _ , Julio.” 

“It’s just different now,” Julio sighs. “We don’t work like we used to. I can’t change who I am and you can’t change who you are. And I’m not going to be the reason that you’re miserable.” 

“I am miserable now,” Shatterstar points out.

“Yeah, well, me too,” Julio admits. He sweeps the pieces of broken glass into the wastebasket next to the toilet. “That’s just how it works. You’re miserable for awhile, and then it gets a little better every day, and then someday… you’re okay.” It feels weird having to explain breakups to the man he broke up with. But everything’s always been weird with Shatterstar. (He misses it.) 

“It does not get better for me,” Shatterstar says. “I feel  _ more _ miserable every day.”

Julio’s breath hitches, but all he says is, “You’ll be okay.” Shatterstar looks doubtful. “You’ll meet somebody,” he says, though the idea makes his stomach curl. “We just don’t work right together,” he says again, because maybe if he keeps saying it it will become easier to believe. 

“Right,” Shatterstar says blankly. He raises a hand to the side of his head and finds his injury reasonably improved. “Well.”

“I’m sorry,” Julio says, because he can’t help himself.

“Thank you for removing the glass,” Shatterstar says, and Julio thinks wildly of the stray dog that he and Jimmy found once back in Arizona. She’d had a thorn stuck in her foot. The two of them had carried her back to Camp Verde and removed the thorn, given her water and some of Sam’s potato chips. And then they’d sent her on her way, never to be seen again. “I will leave you alone.”

Julio stands up and follows Shatterstar to the door, opens it for him, feels vaguely like he’s living in a messed up alternate dimension. 

Except no, he’s done that. This is just real life, and it fucking sucks. “Bye, ‘Star,” he says, his voice rough. At least he’s okay. At least he’s not going to heal up with glass sticking out of his temple. 

“Goodbye, Rictor,” Shatterstar says. And he walks away. 

Julio closes the door and sinks onto the corner of his bed, trying to hold it in, failing. He cries so hard he’s worried the building might be shaking. He cries and cries, and then finally he gets up and he brushes his teeth, and he takes off his jeans, and he sets his alarm, and he goes to bed. 

He’s got more stuff going on tomorrow, stuff that doesn’t involve alien gladiators and time travel and interdimensional refugees. He’s got inventory, and training bar staff, and haggling with musicians he wants to book. He has his life post-Shatterstar, sans-Shatterstar. And he will tell himself, in the morning, that he’s perfectly happy with it. 

He will tell himself that in the morning.

For now, he just tucks his arms around himself and tries not to think. 


End file.
